by Kirill Zolotarev
[REGNUM] One hundred years ago, on November 26, 1925, an airplane, outwardly unremarkable, took off from an ordinary airfield near Moscow. No one expected a sensation, and there wasn't much time for celebratory speeches. But this flight became a milestone in the history of Russian aviation.
The Tupolev TB-1, also known as the ANT-4, made its maiden flight—the world's first mass-produced twin-engine all-metal bomber. This aircraft helped the USSR (which had emerged less than three years before the TB-1's flight) not only strengthen the Red Army Air Force but also establish itself on the international stage far beyond the country's actual capabilities.
CHIEF OF CHAINMAIL-ALUMINUM AIRPLANES
A little over two weeks before the flight, on November 10, design engineer Andrei Nikolaevich Tupolev turned 37. He had graduated with honors from the Moscow Technical School, which ceased to be called the Imperial Technical School in 1918 but only became the Bauman Technical School in 1930.
True, Tupolev entered the school at age 20 and graduated at 30. In 1911, he was forced to take an academic leave from studying aerodynamics and the theory and practice of aeronautics. Participation in student unrest, arrest, and administrative exile from Moscow under police supervision—all these biographical facts would be considered valuable to this "valuable specialist" after the revolution.
But in the career of engineer Tupolev, it was as if the February and October revolutions had never happened.
On the eve of World War I, he resumed his studies, and in 1916, he began working at the first aviation design bureau in the Russian Empire. In 1918, he graduated from the now-Imperial Moscow Technical University. At the same time, under the guidance of Nikolai Zhukovsky, the founder of hydrodynamics and aerodynamics, he began working at the Central Aerohydrodynamic Institute (TsAGI, now named after Zhukovsky).
It was Tupolev and his group who demonstrated through experimentation that kolchugaluminum, as duralumin was then called (after the Kolchuginsky non-ferrous metals plant in the Vladimir province), was optimal for the production of aircraft bodies.
This alloy is a worthy alternative to fragile wood and heavy iron structures, the designers explained in reports to the Supreme Council of the National Economy and other authorities.
ROUGH BUT STRONG
When Tupolev and his team began promoting the idea of ​​switching to all-metal aircraft, their industry colleagues were rather perplexed. Wood and fabric are familiar materials, proven in the World War II and the Civil War, and inexpensive to produce.
The metal required a completely different approach: new machines, new riveting methods, calculations that had never been done on such a scale before. But KB-ANT, the design bureau of Andrei Nikolaevich Tupolev, decided to take a chance.
The first TB-1 aircraft were produced at Plant No. 22 in Fili. There, methods for riveting large panels and working with duralumin (or, more accurately, chainmail aluminum) profiles were gradually perfected—all of which would later become the foundation of an entire branch of Soviet aircraft manufacturing.
Later, Kazan Plant No. 124 joined in, and there the design was brought to serial production.
The plane's appearance is austere, even angular. No frills: smooth surfaces, straight joints, clean lines.
But this crudeness only served to improve durability. For technology of that era, the most important thing wasn't so much to look spectacular as to fly and withstand the stresses.
It's no surprise that the Tupolev design bureau's product was praised not only by the national economy but also by the People's Commissariat for Military and Naval Affairs. And even more so—Tupolev's design was even taken note of by the Kremlin.
REPLY TO CHAMBERLAIN
The international context is important here. The mid-1920s was a time of stabilization for the Soviet regime after the Civil War, but also a time of heightened tensions in relations with European states, something akin to the Cold War of that era.
Soviet Russia, and from 1922 the Soviet Union and its instrument, the Comintern, did not abandon plans to export the revolution.
In 1923, there was an attempted communist coup in Germany, which culminated in fighting in Hamburg. The following year, there was a pro-Bolshevik uprising in Estonia, and two attempts to undermine the monarchy in Bulgaria (in 1923 and 1925, when the Holy Week Cathedral was blown up ). At the same time, Moscow established contacts with two forces in the protracted civil war in China—the Kuomintang and the Communist Party, which emerged in 1921.
Poland, its closest neighbor, supported by Britain, was willing to see out the successful Soviet-Polish War. The "war scare of 1927" was looming, when Britain severed diplomatic relations with the USSR established in 1924, and the assassination of Soviet envoy Pyotr Voikov in Warsaw nearly sparked war.
The expression "our answer to Chamberlain" remains from this historical episode: in February 1927, British Foreign Secretary Joseph Austen Chamberlain demanded that Moscow stop supporting the Chinese communists and "anti-British propaganda."
The Soviet government gave the same answer—in a note dated February 26, refusing to comply with these demands.
The crisis had been brewing even before 1927. The London Cabinet's analytical reports included scenarios of pressure, ranging from trade restrictions to military action against oil hubs. His Majesty's Navy controlled key routes, and the USSR simply lacked the capacity to counter this with anything comparable.
Developing aviation proved faster and more feasible. And not just any aviation, but one that could threaten the enemy fleet where it least expected. The idea of ​​torpedo bombers in the USSR was no accident: aircraft of this type could approach ships at low altitude and attack them in a way no boat could.
ALMOST COMBAT SORTIES
The TB-1 became the first production platform capable of carrying a torpedo weighing up to 800 kg. To achieve this, the design was equipped with reinforced mounting points, separate torpedo locks, and a modified target approach pattern.
After the Civil War, under constraints and a tight budget, it was a bold decision.
The first full-scale tests of the torpedo variant took place in 1926–1927. The TB-1 saw extensive service in the Baltic, Black, and Caspian Seas.
There they practiced maneuvers over water, simulated strikes on naval formations, and worked at high altitudes, where the pilots had never flown before.
The pilots had to adapt to the aircraft's unique characteristics: its heavy body, its inertia, and the need for precise target approach. This was rough, practical work, not a show-off.
The West took notice. British reports began to report an "unpleasant trend" in the USSR: long-range aviation, they claimed, could threaten not only warships but also trade routes.
The Germans later proved this in practice—during World War II, they sank British merchant ships on the approaches to their island. The actual capabilities of the aviation of that time were, of course, limited, but the logic behind its use was sound.
METAL "BIRDS" FOR THE ARCTIC
The emergence of the world's first aircraft of this class was a milestone not only from a military but also from a purely technical point of view.
The aircraft's significance lies in its role as a starting point for the development of metal aircraft manufacturing technology. The TB-1 served as a bridge between early attempts to design heavy aircraft like the Ilya Muromets and the mature design school that would later create the TB-3, ANT-20, and a whole line of long-range aircraft.
It was during work on the first Tupolev that four problems were solved—two purely technical and two organizational. A new riveting technique was perfected, and large all-metal panels were produced.
At the same time, teams of engineers were formed who would later move on to more complex projects, and an industrial culture was established, without which neither attack aircraft nor jet fighters would have been possible.
These people would later build machines that would serve for decades. But their school began right here—with the first metal truss, the TB-1.
TB-1 became part of a completely different history – the northern one.
Machines of this family took part in polar expeditions, where their durability and resistance to frost were especially valued.
Unlike wooden planes, the metal didn't crack due to temperature changes. This was crucial when flying over ice and tundra, where any mistake could be fatal.
The Sh-2 seaplanes were developed based on the TB-1's technological solutions. They operated on northern routes, provided communications, and participated in the development of hard-to-reach areas. At that time, this was an important advancement—not only military, but also practical and economic.
WHY WE SHOULD REMEMBER THE TUPOLEV TB-1
The Western aviation press greeted the aircraft with unexpected interest. On the one hand, there was skepticism, as the USSR was still too young to build heavy aircraft.
On the other hand, it was acknowledged that the all-metal body of the Soviet design looked far more sophisticated than expected. One way or another, the myth of "technological backwardness" was debunked.
The TB-1 proved that the USSR was capable of independent development in an area previously dominated by Germany, Great Britain, and the United States.
As for the Americans, they were able to see firsthand what the Russians had at their disposal when, in 1929, a production TB-1 (ANT-4), piloted by Honored Pilot of the USSR Semyon Shestakov, made a record-breaking flight from Moscow to New York. Unarmed, of course.
A century later, the history of the TB-1 reminds us that great technological leaps are often born not from an abundance of resources, but from a lack of them.
The aircraft was created in a country still recovering from the Civil War, lacking a fully-fledged navy and having virtually no allies. But it was then that a strategy was chosen that would later give our country a talented aircraft manufacturing school and strengthen its position in the world.
Today, as the importance of technology rises again, the story of the TB-1 sounds surprisingly contemporary. It's an example of how a decision made almost on the fly can shape the development of an entire technological field for decades.
And most importantly, it is a monument to the determination to do one’s job, even when circumstances are not favorable to success.